You and Me
by Ivydoll
Summary: Complete. PietroKurt. Drabbles at 100 words each. The two run circles around each other, coming closer and closer until the inevitable conclusion. Tidied: 04-Aug-12.
1. One

**(KAI) **Pietro/Kurt slash; drabbles at 100 words each. Is it too OOC? I didn't try very hard.

* * *

**You and Me**

His eyes flutter over pages, words and numbers, until the work is done and ready for school. Sighing like a child, and sleepy, he curls against his desk, the cool glow of the computer screen nearby a reminder. Throws himself up, topples to the bed, and he doesn't take his shoes, but folds up slender arms and cries, cries, cries.

Until the sunlight pours in on.

This day is brighter, and lies like it.

He rises, collects. Greets them on his way out- someone preoccupies his thoughts. Hovering like a firefly.

That's why going back to school hurts.

He's there.


	2. Two

**2**

Pietro knows what's underneath. That black hair is the deepest blue. Those amber eyes are gold. That pale skin is blue, blue, blue, and it must be taunting him, teasing. He teases back; trips up that object of hurtful affection, makes one fool of him and another of himself.

He doesn't want to yell, he wants to kiss. He doesn't want to fight, he wants to love.

Kurt with his people, and Pietro with his people; they make it rather difficult.

But without them? What then?

"I love you, Kurt?"

No. No.

Better to suffer than save. Better to hide.


	3. Three

**3**

It isn't Monday. It's forever. What can he do? There is no energy _left_ anymore- not with the endlessness of his enemy swinging circles around him. There is no energy to dance, to play. No energy to laugh.

He is being laughed at. Underneath the skin and the clothes. There is a monster; he knows it.

He understands.

Why, look at Pietro, he understands perfectly!

It is not the first Monday he has given them nothing, those that fervently deny these thoughts. Team mates? Friends? They slip away; far away. Pietro circles closer; laughs. Runs.

Sometimes, Kurt wants to die.


	4. Four

**4**

It's only a challenge when the quarry bites back. It's only interesting if there's a reaction; and Pietro is growing frustrated the further from reactive his personal quarry drifts. Wednesday affords him little to keep his mind occupied, and boredom is unsettling. Too queer and frightening; unless stimulated- running, fighting, talking- he grows to thinking.

And there are certain thoughts Pietro does not wish to think.

Thoughts of dark hair, pale skin. _Cobalt hair; golden eyes._

At least it's a mystery; mysteries can be unraveled. Picked apart. Conquered.

But the quarry disappears in haze. And Pietro can't unravel him.

Yet.


	5. Five

**5**

He hides in a tree, and watches Pietro speed away. It's hard not to follow.

Wild thoughts in his head go in round, sharp, tight, slow circles, till he lets little tears go down they way they will, and they way they won't, so that another presence calls him, back and away to the place he can call home.

He fades.

"Professor?"

He tells him what's wrong; he tells him what he knows with dark, serious eyes.

And Kurt listens.

"Professor..."

But it is hard to argue with the all-knowing.

With a sigh, Kurt trudges to his room. The Professor-


	6. Six

**6**

"-Left me high and dry!" Pietro wailed, confusion rippling through his stomach like a Gaelic winter.

No one answers. He is used to talking to himself. It continues.

"I asked again and again to just tell me what the hell he meant or get out of my head, but the old bastard just kept hovering there and wouldn't leave me alone- like he was trying to get me guilty!"

Silence welcomed him, cool arms in a stuffy room.

"I suppose no one cares that I spent an hour today arguing with an enemy cripple in my head?"

Pietro sighed; left.


	7. Seven

**7**

So perhaps everyone _did_ notice. Kurt quietly fielded the torrent of attention he received on his way up, feeling tired and spiteful and cold. It would be time for bed soon, and he supposed, secretly, that the attention he received from these people, his family of _de facto _measure, was rather the effort of his professor Xavier...

It was a cynical thought, and Kurt didn't like it. Nor did he enjoy the empty, lost feeling he'd been crumbling under for the past few months, culminating in this pitfire now.

Again, alone on his bed and anxious, he holds his breath-


	8. Eight

**8**

And he runs, and he runs, and he hates himself.

This isn't who he is- not some fool chasing after some boy going through some breakdown while some crazy old man spouts some crazy foolishness about how some people ought to be true to someselves, such their self selves, and the also the selves of the self they've been chasing after for the past many months.

But he must be ignoring himself, or how for-goodness-else would he have ended up where he is? Eyes damp from what we won't call imperfection; looking through this window lit by pale light?


	9. Nine

**9**

-And he exhales slowly. Something has closed in. The window isn't open, but isn't there a breeze? A hint of someone there, there nearby?

Kurt's heart does not stop nor skip, but speeds with nerves as his breath trips over itself. He opens the window- wouldn't fresh air be nice?

But he looks down; he knows something is amiss, and down on the ground, staring straight up at him like a ghost, is his enemy, his torment. Something else.

"Quicksilver! Vhat are you doing down zerr?" he calls softly as though nothing is wrong.

As though he couldn't be happier.


	10. Ten

**10**

Pietro finds his way up. It isn't so far. Kurt lets him in, troubled.

"This isn't you, either, hunh?" ice breaks; Pietro's elusive quarry sits silently on his bed, rubbing his face.

"No..." Kurt says, heart too loud. The excitement fights with him; wins. Shaking?

"Can I sit here?" Pietro asks, already doing so.

"Yes..."

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

"Can I hold you?"

He sees a nod, embarrassed and pretty.

They lay, quietly together. Kurt moans softly, fearfully.

"Don't cry," Pietro whispers, confused, flustered- elated.

"I'm not." Kurt presses closer, "Vhat is ziss?"

A warm shrug, "Me an' you."


End file.
